Remember My Name
by Satchelle
Summary: Olivia Blackheart, a genius with questionable sanity, is determined to expose magic to the ordinary world and carve her name in history. But when her pet plant starts talking back to her and she's kidnapped by a chain-smoking dragon, everything changes. A war is on the horizon, and Olivia will have to choose a side. How will she be remembered? As a mad scientist? Or a witch?


**Chapter One**

**The Stick**

"Olive!" A concerned and panicked voice rang through the steel door. "Open up, Olive!" The metal rang as a fist banged on it repeatedly.

The room beyond the door hummed with electricity, the buzzing causing beakers and burners to rattle, as if shaking with excitement. A pair of sneakers squeaked across the linoleum as they slid past an examination counter. Fingers flashed beneath the flickering lights, moving as if conducting a silent orchestra.

The owner of the sneakers was whisking herself back and forth at the speed and erraticism of a house fly. Her lab coat caught the air and swished behind her as she spun, punching numbers into several computers and flipping switches on expensive, shiny equipment. Monitors came to life, beeping loudly in her ears. The glass of the girl's gigantic, square glasses reflected the green-tinted code as it scrolled by. She clapped her hands together, rubbing them with anticipation. "Yes, yes, YES!" She shouted to herself, the way a football fan would be compelled to cheer on their favourite team.

"Olive!" The man's voice beyond the locked door cracked. "If you blow up the wing again they'll expel you for sure this time!" He pressed his freckled, pudgy face up against the porthole, flattening his nose until it looked like a sundried tomato. "As your friend, you're _only _friend, I beg you! Stop this before you go too far!"

"Don't worry, Manish! The formula is perfect this time!" The girl leapt backwards, landed in a desk chair and rolled across the room, checking the wiring that started at the wall of computers and ended in the centre island. A large, hulking mechanism with spinning pins and knobs that emitted bursts of steam sat there like a fat king. Different makes and models of light bulbs stuck out of the machine like warts and were glowing a dangerous orange, flashing fitfully. She could have kissed it.

In the core of the machine several needles spat sparks at a small, bony object. A very special object that had taken the girl several months, a black market deal and most of her savings to acquire.

A stick.

The sparks zapped the stick repeatedly until it began to quiver and steam. It radiated a deep, moldy-green aura, like toxic radiation. The girl bit her knuckles nervously, afraid it would burst into flame before her experiment had finished.

But then, miraculously, the stick started to float. Gravity seemed to slip away from the stick, an object that did not bow to the rules of simple science.

"It's working!" The girl exclaimed, jumping up and down, proud as a mother of her very own child.

A scanner bleeped and the printer began hawking out a long tongue of paper with scribbles of data scrawled across it. The girl scrambled, grabbing at the paper and reading it with lightning speed. "You should see these results! I'm certain of it this time. This PROVES magic exists!"

No sooner had she made her monumental declaration than the light bulbs started to pop, one by one. The girl covered her face and ducked as shards of glass and wire began exploding from the machine, cutting through beakers and shattering monitors. The stick wobbled in mid-air and the green light grew even brighter, forcing the girl to squint, hiding her eyes behind the shadow of her hand. A sudden breeze picked up, originating out of nowhere. It lifted papers and binders and petri dishes and spun them around the room in a whirlwind.

Suddenly the girl found herself in the centre of a tornado.

The girl dug her sneakers into the floor and fought the current, reaching her one hand to turn the machine off. She gritted her teeth, her neat ponytail unravelling and her short hair fluttering behind her. She shrugged off her lab coat, which only served to slow her down, and fell to her knees. She started to crawl, her limbs heavy, the wind threatening to lift her off the floor.

The man behind the door was shouting something along the lines of _"GET OUT OF THERE!" _but the humming sound was so loud it drowned him into silence. The man disappeared, racing to find help.

The stick dimmed its light momentarily, the way a neutron star imploded in on itself before ignition. Then it flashed so brightly that it stung the girl's skin and forced her to curl up into a protective ball. Every light and machine in the room (and half the city) exploded and shorted out, sending the lab into complete, quiet blackness.

After a minute the girl, certain she was no longer in danger, uncurled herself. She stood up, brushing glass and debris from her and clothes. She lifted her wrist up to feel her forehead and brought it back down, now smeared with a splatter of blood.

She hobbled over to her invention, which had crumpled to half its size, like a deflated balloon. She placed her hands on the edges of the counter and leaned forward, peering inside.

The stick had disintegrated, turning itself into a small, sad streak of ash. The girl touched it tentatively with her finger and rubbed the ash between her thumb and forefinger, letting the puffs of dust fall from her fingers.

She stared at the tiny black particles, her eye flicking back and forth, and then clenched her fist, hiding the destroyed stick from sight. In a single, cohesive movement she grabbed the nearest object (a heavy paperweight) and flung it across the room, smashing a hole in the drywall.

Breathing heavy, she turned to glare at the machine, only to see that the door had been opened. Immediately her angry stance fell to one of awkward guilt. Standing in the doorway was the freckled boy, staring down at his feet apologetically. Beside him towered a severe looking old man, with a crooked nose and a ring of silver hair that bordered his balding crown.

The severe man spoke first. "What. Have. You. _Done_?" He said gruffly, his hand gripping the open doorknob tightly, threatening to yank it from its bolts. The other pointed a curved chrome cane at her, charged with accusation.

The girl blinked and one of the cracked panels in her glasses popped out. Her sandy hair was frazzled and the tips were smoking. A trickle of blood dripped down the side of her face.

Slowly, she raised her hand in the air, spreading her fingers like flower petals to show the stain of black that crossed it, cutting across her palm with the similarity of a dark bolt of lightning. "Magic." She whispered.


End file.
